Dudley At Large--Volume I: Dudley caught between Moon and New York City

As mentioned in my sister/associate's earlier post from this week, we have received news that Dudley was never confirmed dead and is presently at large (potentially). Sure he'd be roughly 200 years old in dog years. Whatever. I try to remain optimistic that the old pooch is still kicking as I'm never one to underestimate the heart of a champion (to my knowledge Dudley never won anything, I'm just being unctuous). As the shock value of this news begins to dissipate, we are left wondering what our four legged friend has been up to in his travels over the last decade and a half. With our large and loyal following, we have started to slowly receive emails from readers that have either spent time with or have second hand knowledge of Dudley's comings and goings since his mysterious disappearance from his Orchard Lake estate some fifteen years ago. We will periodically post some of the more interesting ones in an ongoing segment titled, "Dudley At Large". This will be a cathartic exercise that will give us all an opportunity to catch up with a dog that we didn't really care all that much about in the first place. If anyone has any past or present information on Dudley, please email our Dudley HotLine at lkaplan44@gmail.com. Thanks. I will leave you with this interesting Dudley email that we received this week. Enjoy--


From: ibuble@solarishs.org (Irene Bublegartner)
Sent: Thursday, October 30, 2008 1:05 AM
To: brad@chicagosunset.com
Subject: Dudley--loyal friend to dying, British comedic legend


Dear Sirs:


I hope this email receives you well. My name is Irene Bublegartner and I am a nurse at Muhlemberg Hospital in Plainfield, New Jersey. I write to you today as I may have information about a nondescript dog named Dudley that you seem to have an unhealthy interest in.


In the winter of 2002, one of my patients was none other than British film and comedy legend, Dudley Moore. He was battling with pneumonia at the time (which he would ultimately succumb to) and was in my care for a couple of months. While in our facility, Moore was weak and despondent most of the time. He really had no interest in visitors and slept for large chunks of the day. I remember one time Liza Minelli showed up with a gorgeous fruit basket and a magnum of Bombay Gin. Moore refused her and her gifts and I was forced to literally throw an irate Minelli to the curb (I'm a husky woman). The only thing that would cheer Moore up during this trying time was the occasional visit from a shaggy, gray haired pooch named in his likeness. I remember Moore telling me one time in a rare lucid moment about how he came to know the other Dudley. He was down in Atlantic City doing a 3 night set at Harrah's in the fall of 2000 and asked his agent to arrange for some female companionship for the evening. At the completion of his set (which received a lukewarm response from the sparsely populated main ballroom crowd), he went back to his dressing room expecting to find his escort for the evening. Instead he found a scraggly, unkempt dog, chirping loudly and jumping on him with reckless abandon. When the dog finally calmed down, Moore checked his tags to find that the loud, drooling dog also went by the name, "Dudley". It was love at first sight.


From that point on, Dudley and Dudley were rarely apart. Moore recognized that this was a talented canine and quickly incorporated him into his act. (Editors note: this runs contrary to my recollection of Dudley. From what I recall, Dudley had no discernible talent whatsoever. Anyway, back to her email. BK) They developed a cult following (by their own estimation, not the public's) on the boardwalk in AC, as Moore, always the shameless huckster, tried to cash in on his Arthur fame, by doing a duet of Christopher Cross' "Arthur's Theme (Best That You Can Do)". With Moore singing lead vocals in his smoky British accent and Dog on the piano, the duo captivated literally dozens of Jersey Shore passersby as they clumsily stepped around the duo's equipment in pursuit of salt water taffy.


A couple years later, when Moore became ill and was admitted to our facility, his biggest concern was not his illness, it was the hospital's strict "No Pets" rule. I remember conversing with an inconsolable Moore and listening to him ramble on about how, "Dudley isn't my pet, he's my friend" while intermittently sobbing. I even recall saying under my breath, "Well, the hospital's not going to go for that loophole, "Arthur"". We figured that after a few days passed, that Moore would relent about the dog and start concentrating on his treatment. This was simply not the case. In fact, I was working the midnight shift one night and I went to check on Mr. Moore. When I arrived at his room he was nowhere to be found. Our security guards found him about an hour later. He was in a wheelchair in nothing but a hospital smock making a beeline towards the Jersey Turnpike. It was the middle of January. When he was safely back in his room, I asked him what possibly motivated him to leave the hospital and go out into the freezing cold in the middle of the night. He told me that if the hospital wasn’t going to let him see Dudley, he was going to continue to take matters into his own hands. It was at this point that I caved and told Mr. Moore that I’d help him sneak Dudley into the hospital a couple times a week. All I wanted in return was for him to arrange a lunch date for me with Kirk Cameron, his co-star in “Like Father, Like Son”. After all, Kirk Cameron is dreamy. A deal was consummated.


And so it came to pass that every Tuesday and Friday night at around 1 AM, I’d sneak Dudley in through the hospital loading dock. The two of them certainly lived it up and the boost of energy that Mr. Moore received when he was in the company of Dog was nothing short of miraculous. They’d hoot and holler, smoke cigars, play gin rummy and serenade one another with their beloved Christopher Cross medleys. On some nights, I felt like I was doing two jobs—my normal registered nurse responsibilities and playing cocktail waitress to Dudley and Dudley. I’d bring Moore his standard tumbler of English Gin and Dog a tasty bowl of Alpo. Upon my return, sometimes I’d find Dog tipsy with Gin on his breath, while Moore was finishing off the remains of Dog's late night snack. When pressed for an explanation, Moore explained that Dog grew up on high quality Jewish home cooked meals and scoffed at eating food from a can (dog food or otherwise). Moore on the other hand, grew up in Britain and American dog food was an apparent upgrade to his palate. This story was later confirmed one night when I was on my dinner break. I had brought in some leftover brisket and just the smell of it caused Dog to crash through the nurse’s station, jump on the table and devour my humble dinner right in front of me. I didn’t complain though—after all, I was dating Mike Seaver at the time.


Sadly, Moore’s condition continued to worsen and he finally passed away in February of that year. Dudley was, of course, by his side. Kirk and I attended the funeral together later that week. It was the first and only time I’d ever seen a dog act as a pallbearer. Dudley did NOT give the eulogy, however (that would have been too ironic). Afterwards, at the wake, Dudley was entertaining the crowd on the piano (naturally playing “Arthur’s Theme” over and over again). With all the Hollywood types in attendance, I mentioned to Kirk that Dudley may get a pilot deal out of this. This made Kirk rage with jealousy and, looking back, was probably the beginning of the end of our relationship. I would have been right though were it not for Dudley’s ill timed crap in the living room that made all of the mourner’s evacuate the wake.


That was the last I ever heard from Dudley and I can really only speculate as to his whereabouts. If you get any new information, please pass it along—he still owes me a brisket dinner.


I Remain (see, I’m a blog reader),
Irene Bublegartner, RN